


Hunter's Moon

by Dordean



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Yule prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean
Summary: “Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy,” he gives her a graceful bow - completely unperturbed by them perilously balancing on a narrow ledge that circles around the roof of Karoberta Tower - and she doesn’t need to see his teeth anymore to confirm his identity. Among their kind, only higher vampires choose such pretentious names, claiming heritage and other nonsense. “And you are?”“Natanis.”





	Hunter's Moon

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt: "Regis/Beauclair Succubus, [BOOKS] From the way Regis reacts to Fringilla asking about him and the succubus, there must have been some kind of story there besides just sex. From both sides I think! So maybe, Regis wooing the succubus! Taking her stargazing, both of them talking until dawn about what it’s like to be monsters between humans, them not quite falling in love -or falling-, building some kind of relationship during those nights in Toussaint before Stygga."
> 
> Also inspired by [velvetto draws's art](http://velvettodraws.tumblr.com/post/168938237644/witcher-yule-2017-prompt-7-regisbeauclair) \- do go and check her stunning work. :)
> 
> A few delicious headcanons I just couldn't _not_ write. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (As always, love to [ Kael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeltale/pseuds/kaeltale) and [Sparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall) for beta.)

> _“A pretty gesture from the ladies.” Regis didn’t lower his gaze. “And a well-deserved bonus. It isn’t easy to stop a succubus from haunting. You may believe me, Madam Fringilla.”_
> 
> Andrzej Sapkowski “Lady of the Lake”

  


***

“A truly splendid view.”

Surprised, she spins around, nearly losing her hoofing. In a blink of an eye he’s beside her, a steadying hand on her shoulder. 

Ah. Interesting.

“Who are you?” she demands. 

He smiles, his lips pressed together. A pity, as she would very much like to confirm her theory. It’s a nice smile, though. Thoughtful. 

“Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy,” he gives her a graceful bow - completely unperturbed by them perilously balancing on a narrow ledge that circles around the roof of Karoberta Tower - and she doesn’t need to see his teeth anymore to confirm his identity. Among their kind, only higher vampires choose such pretentious names, claiming heritage and other nonsense. “And you are?”

“Natanis,” she replies curtly. If he thinks he can intimidate her...

But he merely smiles again and turns to enjoy the view and she lets herself relax. She wouldn’t stand a chance if he decided to attack her, but he doesn’t seem in any way aggressive. She thinks herself skilled at reading males, regardless of their species - a necessity for her kind - and she doesn’t read anything dangerous in him. Powerful, yes. Which unravels interesting options, come to think of it.

Underneath them, Beauclair is a sea of light and she finds herself mesmerized. The moon is coming to full, its large face swollen on the night sky, painting the permanent snows on the slopes of Gorgon in the hues of silver. In the distance, the villages and wineries flicker like sparks from fire, and around them the tall, slim towers of Beauclair palace shoot right into the sky. 

It’s her favourite place, one that offers the best view - the view she never has enough of. She always feels full of life up here, surrounded by all the light and the beauty - and full of yearning, too. She never shared this place with anyone; she knows every loose and uneven stone up here, but it’s too risky for her human lovers to be walking along the narrow tower roof. She might be inhumanly strong, but she wouldn’t be able to save them from a fall.

Now, though…

She darts a quick glance to his silent form, standing a little away to her right. The vampire wears his middle-aged, unassuming human disguise well, but she's burning to rip it off and find out what's underneath. He turns to her with that tight-lipped smile of his.

“I can understand why you love it,” he says quietly. “Faramond’s genius in restoring the treasures of elven architecture is unparalleled. What a sight.”

“It’s disputable if the entire work is his,” she says, narrowing her eyes a little. Reading her mood _and_ showing off, are we? “The eastern wing is said to have been renovated much later. You can see the subtle differences in the finish of the corbels.”

His eyebrows rise and she has to fight down a smile of her own.

“It is his project,” he tells her, the subtle tones of admiration that seep into his voice cause a small ball of warmth to spread low in her belly. “It was only partially done under his supervision, however, which might explain the differences you mentioned. The differences I hope you will be willing to show me, for your observations are most fascinating. Are you interested in architecture?”

“I tend to study it in depth whatever subject catches my fancy,” she says, taking a deliberate step towards him.

His eyes are bright with merriment, his head cocked to the side a little.

“In depth?” he echoes.

She flashes him a smile.

“Allow me to show you.”

“By all means.”

  


***

“Have you ever seen his other work?”

His quiet voice swirls through her half-awake mind. She’s sated, the perpetual hunger in her satisfied for the time being. She loves this state; this equilibrium, when she’s briefly free from the constant yearning, the constant need. She does enjoy the chase, the thrills and pleasures of the sexual act itself, and the ecstasy of the release, obviously - but the persistent, insatiable desire can at times get tiresome. And so in the aftermath, when there’s only warmth and peace and quiet, she often lets her mind slip into the half-meditative state – and she hates it when her bliss is interrupted.

To her surprise, she finds that his words don’t disturb her; on the contrary, her mind lazily follows his question, images of beauty resurfacing in her memory. She wonders if he – _knows_ – just how precious these moments are for her and if he’s consciously enhancing her sensations by stimulating her other senses.

“Only the royal palace in Cintra. But not much remains of its original design,” she murmurs.

He hums in agreement, his fingers following the trail of her tattoos.

“The Watchtower of Cidaris is my favourite,” he says in a near whisper and goes on to describe it to her in his gentle voice, and she lets it lull her mind.

  


***

The first time he takes her flying, she openly weeps. Between the view of the palace basking in the silver glow of the full moon, the lights like fireflies beneath them, and the sensation of being in the air, the freedom and the rush of adrenaline, the experience is so intense it’s almost painful. It's glorious; it's addictive. 

His grip is gentle but firm, his wings keep them suspended while she finds herself immersed, lost, sinking in the overwhelming sensations that flood her senses. 

The delicate, lacelike construction of the palace, with its intricate archways and slim towers, is even more spectacular from above. She doesn’t think she’ll see anything as breathtakingly stunning as this ever again.

She reaches out to kiss him, lost for words, the touch the only way left to her to express what she feels. And he understands, and responds gently, but she is unable to hold back, and so she deepens the kiss, the craving overcoming her once more. The rush of blood makes her head spin, her mind filled purely with want.

He takes them to a small, snow-covered clearing. She pulls him to her as soon as they're back on the solid ground, impatience, desire and gratitude blended into a powerful combination that makes her shiver and moan at his lightest touch. She's half crazy at the overstimulation and when he takes her, she's arching into him, her hips thrusting up, low moans escaping her lips, and suddenly she cannot wait any longer; the ecstasy explodes in her mind, only adding to that intoxicating mixture simulating all her senses.

As he embraces her, her heart very nearly bursts in her chest, the post-coital bliss more perfect than anything she’s ever felt.

  


***

“Nuragus?” he asks, inspecting the bottle, his eyebrows raised.

They're sitting at the side of one of countless ponds that dot the grounds of the palace gardens. This is her spot and the guards know it, leaving it mostly alone - day _or_ night.

“Est Est is highly overrated,“ she smiles at him, accepting the cup he filled for her.

He chuckles at her remark.

“Overrated,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I must say meeting you was a surprise, and continues to be a surprise.”

She nods at him with a small smile, the warmth at his words spreading dangerously within her again.

“Have you met many of my kind?” she asks.

“Many, no. I did meet a few in my youth,” he sips a little of the wine. “But none while I lived amongst humans.”

He breaks off for a moment, then looks at her again.

“You’re right, it’s a wonderful wine. What an exquisite bouquet.”

She flashes a smile at him and drinks a little of the wine herself. He falls silent, taking another sip and clearly enjoying it and she’s watching him, the need to dig under his disguise, to uncover who he truly is, back in full force.

“Why do you do this?” she blurts out.

He frowns at her.

“Do what exactly?”

“This,” she gestures at him: the clothes, the herbal disguise, the tight-lipped smile he’s giving her even now. “Why do you care so much about blending in, about living among _them_? Shouldn’t you cherish your nature? Live as who you are?”

He hesitates.

“It’s…complicated,” he offers eventually.

“And I’m too simple to understand it?” 

Her cheeks are burning with anger. Damn him and his philosophy and brains and…

“You’re anything but simple, dear,” he shakes his head and she manages to quell her annoyance. “What I meant is, this is a subject I find very difficult to explain without telling you my entire life story. But let’s just say that I find studying humans fascinating.”

“Is this why… Is this why you’re travelling with _him_?”

A moment of hesitation again.

“…Yes. Among other reasons.”

“And how does this work for you?”

He raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“The travelling?”

“The blending,” she huffs impatiently, but can’t help a smile.

“It was going quite well for a while,” he replies with a sigh. “Before the war tore apart the land I came to call home.” 

He pauses, then smiles back at her. 

“What about you? You seem very well settled here, in Toussaint.”

“I’ve lived here all my life,” she shrugs. “It is my home; I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I know all its little ways, I know how the society works; I know how to get what I need.”

“The noble ladies hired the witcher to get rid of you,” the vampire says thoughtfully. “Have you done anything out of the ordinary in the recent weeks? Anything that would push them to do that?”

She frowns at him.

“The witcher? But-”

He waves his hand dismissively.

“He won’t harm you. He’s strongly against unnecessary violence against the nonhumans.”

“That’s a strange attitude for a _witcher_ to have.”

“I can assure you he’s quite unusual in many ways,” the vampire tilts his head and studies her. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I… May have been too greedy recently,” she admits after a moment of silence. 

He leans closer and touches her cheek.

“You may need to lay low for a little while,” he says quietly. “The duchess can be quite persistent. I wouldn't want to see you harmed.”

“I can look after myself,” she says, hoping her nonchalant tone disguises her reaction to his words. Does he really _care_ what happens to her? 

And why does his concern suddenly matter to her so much?

  


***

She forgot how much she enjoys being dominated. She likes playing roles, but with her human lovers not able to match her strength the dominance is only ever pretended. But with _him_ … 

He has her pinned to the wall, holding her arms above her head with one hand, in an effortless grip she knows she won’t be able to free herself from. She _tried._

At the same time she’s fully aware he’s still holding back, restraining himself, and the very thought of that power-

He hisses at her then, the sound animalistic, carnal, and any coherent thought melts into the burning desire to have him, now. She wriggles in his grip again, but he just bares his teeth at her, and continues to moves his free hand along her tattoos down her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. His claws extend a little, scraping at her skin and she closes her eyes and gives herself into the sensation, her body melting under his touch.

Then he abruptly turns her so that she’s facing the wall, and pushes into her in one swift move, his grip on her hands not loosening even for a second. She wails and pushes back against his thrusts, wild with want. She can feel his claws piercing her skin as he holds her hips steady, his tempo excruciatingly slow. 

She writhes and whimpers, urging him to speed up, but he only growls at her, his grip on her stronger. She arches into him and nearly begs, when he finally speeds up and is pounding into her, his claws clutching her flesh, and she cries out, pushing back as strong as she can; and when he bites her neck, she screams his name and comes so hard her vision blurs. 

She’s half aware of his release, and mostly because he finally lets go of her hands, holds her and lays her down, and she lets him, too spent to try and protest.

Her mind is gloriously empty and silent as she curls up against him, his true scent filling her nostrils, giving her an unusual sense of calm. Wrapped in his embrace, she feels herself drifting into sleep, which is something she never does - something she shouldn’t be doing.

But here, with him, she feels...safe.

 

***

It has nearly been three months; three months of fulfilling her wildest fantasies, of studying the details of the palace architecture, sometimes _simultaneously_ , of teaching and learning both. 

Three months she knows she won’t forget anytime soon - and forget she will have to, for he was never hiding the fact their stay in Toussaint is very much temporary.

But every now and then she allows herself to dream.

  


***

When he finds her on a secluded balcony of Karoberta Tower one December afternoon, one look at his face is enough to know exactly what news he’s bringing.

“You’re leaving. With _him_.”

It’s not a question, not really. She knew this moment would come and she was foolish - foolish! - to think she may keep him here. 

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Is he that important?” she is trying very hard not to let her hurt show, but when he takes her hand, she lets him. She should be stern, cold, distant. But he would see right through her anyway. 

“He is. And I’m sorry.”

She breathes in the scent of _him_ underneath the herbal disguise he wears, the memories of the nights they spent together flooding her.

She presses him against the wall, unwilling to waste any more of the precious moments on words. The hunger in her is no longer driven purely by her nature, but by something deeper, something the loss of which she will mourn in the days and months to come. 

Damn him; this wasn’t supposed to happen. Falling in love is a luxury her kind cannot afford. A dangerous thought flashes through her mind: what if vampires, with their seemingly endless regeneration potential, were able to sustain her kind’s needs? But it is but a theory, and one she won’t have a chance to test, not anymore.

His lips on her skin bring her back to the present, where the suffering hasn’t happened yet, where one of his hands is caressing the sensitive base of her horns in the way that she loves, while the other follows the trail of her tattoos, sending jolts of pleasure through her body.

She pushes him down, hard, removing whatever garments are in her way, and takes him there, for the last time, among the towers of Beauclair, oblivious to risks, not caring about being seen; caring only about his burning eyes, entirely black, wild and locked with hers, his bared teeth, his face contracted in the in-between phase he so rarely lets her see. 

The sensation of him filling her so completely is exhilarating; his hands are on her breasts and she leans back as he thrusts into her matching her rhythm. Part of her doesn’t want it to end, but her body is always craving for _more,_ more of everything: of the pleasure, of the energy, and so she increases the tempo and he moans, his hands now clutching onto her hips, his sharp nails digging into her flesh.

She falls forward and kisses him, and he bites her; the ever-present threat makes her shudder and give into the ecstasy that sweeps through her, and he's arching into her, his own release closely following hers. 

  


***

The next thing she is aware of is his hand on her cheek. She opens her eyes to see him studying her with a sad smile.

“Meeting you was...most unexpected,” he says softly, his features back to his human form.

“I will miss you,” she allows herself to say. 

“And I will miss you,” he cups her face in his hands. “Promise me you'll be more careful in the future. You don't need another contract on your head.”

“I hope _he_ appreciates what he has in you,” she says, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice.

He says nothing and starts gathering his things that got scattered around in the course of their coupling. Then he leans in and kisses her for the last time.

“Be well, Natanis,” he says and disappears in a swirl of mist.

She looks around in the falling twilight, the tears blurring her vision. The view remains the same, the towers and hills and the beauty around oblivious to the fact that herworld has just collapsed. 

Her place doesn’t give her any comfort, not anymore, she realises with a sharp pang of pain, for it’s no longer hers alone; it's _their_ place now.

  


***

Years later, it is from that very spot that she watches in horror and helpless fury as her world is engulfed by flames and blood, collapsing at a hand of a higher vampire once more.


End file.
